Snippets
by jennamajig
Summary: An experiment of sorts. Started and unfinished Carson story snippets. See author's note in chapter 1.
1. Snippet 1

**Authors Note:**I am trying an experiment of sorts, here. I recently found myself re-watching Seasons 1-3, well up until Sunday, which I still haven't been able to watch. Frankly, Carson is my favorite character (followed by Rodney) and...well, yeah. (I have seen Kindred, Part 2 and The Seed and need to see the other 3 eppys Carson is in Season 5).

Anyways, after having my laptop stolen (long story there), I was loading my backed-up files onto my new laptop, when I found a few snippets of started SGA stories, all Carson-fics. I posted them at my livejournal, but decided to post em here as well, partly because we need more Carson fic and mainly, perhaps to get a reader to kick my butt and get me to finish one, or frankly, all of them. There are five currently and they vary in length from 200 words to 1,300 words.

For now, I am leaving this story as incomplete. If any are continued and finished, they will be removed, titled, and added back to ff dot net as a separate story.

Now, onward to the snippets.

* * *

**Unfinished Snippet #1**  
**Set early Season 2. Very slight spoiler mentions of The Eye, the Gift, and major spoilers for The Seige (Part 3).**  
**Pointless Carson whump. 1,358 words.**

"Colonel, its infected! You should have brought this my attention days ago!"

"Sorry, doc. I didnt think it was really that bad."

"Not that bad?" Carson threw his hands up in frustration. "It's red, Colonel. It hurts when you touch it. And pus is never, ever, a good thing. Not one of those symptoms clued you that something could be wrong?"

Sheppard looked sheepishly to his feet.

Carson sighed. "You also have a temperature of thirty-eight point five degrees."

"That's only one-oh-one point three Fahrenheit. See, not too bad."

"Not too bad? Colonel, did you listen to a word I said?" Carson shook his head. "Of course you didn't. As it stands, this needs to be drained and irrigated. And before you ask, it's overnight at the very least."

"Oh, come on, doc. I've got plans." Sheppard gave Carson his very best pleading look.

"That look may work with Elizabeth or even Rodney, Colonel, but it won't with me. You need at least one course of IV antibiotics. You forget that I always get the last word around here."

Sheppard stared down at his arm. "Oh, I dont think anyone forgets, doc. My question is who gets to overrule you? I mean, if you get sick?"

Carson motioned to the nurse. "Doctors dont get sick. We have wonderful immune systems thanks to spending our days around patients. How do you think I managed to escape that flu last month?"

"Okay, I'll give you that, then. But therere other things that could land you in your own infirmary. Like that concussion after the Genii incident. Or the one Teyla gave you."

One of his favorite nurses Rachel come over, and bless her, brought what he needed. He had a wonderful staff. "Both minor, Colonel. I was up and about almost immediately."

"Oh, so that puking all over the control room floor was just for kicks then?"

Carson picked up a needle, making a point to wave it around slightly. "You have a point, Colonel?"

Sheppard eyed the syringe a bit warily. "Um, yeah. I just think that youd be enlightened if you spent a little more time on the other side of the bed."

Carson sighed, deeper this time. "What little time I did spend there let me know I prefer this side. Heaven knows, you and Rodney certainly keep me busy." He brought the needle down to Sheppards arm.

Sheppard hissed. "I think you need a refresher course."

Carson pulled out the syringe. "I'll keep that in mind, Colonel. Now, you need to sit still."

* * *

Two days later, Carson rubbed at his eyes and tried to focus on the computer screen when it started to blur in front of him. He hadn't really caught up on his sleep since the Wraith siege and now he was spending almost every night working on a new retrovirus he hoped may be able to help Lieutenant Ford. That is, *if* they ever found him again and managed to convince him that Atlantis wasnt foe.

To be honest Carson wasn't sure he could help much in that respect and his recently failed research simulations didn't give that much help. Additionally, it had taken nearly two weeks for the bruises on his neck to fade and having Ford hold him to the wall by the neck wasn't something he cared to relive again. He reached up and rubbed the area subconsciously.

His mug was empty. Hed been drinking tea earlier in the day and preferred it really, but it lacked the true caffeine punch he currently needed to keep going. This late hour was the only time he ever truly got a moment to himself. His position in Atlantis had him often feel like he was always on duty so he relished the fact that no one had poked their head in and asked for his opinion on this or that (or in Rodney's case, also to touch and turn on this and that) and hed been able to discharge Major Sheppard the day before. And for once, the infirmary had not a single patient in it. For him it meant more time for research. At least until sunrise when he was certain the quiet would end and the cycle would start all over again.

He shifted from the screen and towards a few beakers. Perhaps a slight break from the computers glow might help. He picked up an empty beaker.

He didn't notice his hands were shaking until the object crashed to floor, sending glass everywhere. He immediately turned to see if anyone heard it. But his lab was still silent. In the far distance he saw one of his nurses glance up, but he shot her a smile and she relaxed and went back to her book.

He started carefully scooping up the glass.

It wasn't until he finally shut off his computer two hours later that he realized he was bleeding.

Exhausted, he gave the slice on his forearm a quick cleaning and bandaging, then wondered to his quarters to get a couple hours of sleep.

* * *

The aches should have been his first clue. Maybe even the slight pain in his arm. But to be honest, when flu outbreak number two hit Atlantis, Carson didn't have a free moment to process the warning signs.

Instead he was working double shifts. This flu strain was a nasty one, and most of those affected needed IV fluids and anti-emetics. In soon penetrated his own staff and he was left short-handed and running low on beds.

Zelenka was patient zero, and the worst affected. For whatever reason, those lucky enough to catch the virus from the engineer suffered less severe symptoms. That still didn't stop Rodney from complaining.

Of course, even Rodney could only get in so many words between bouts of vomiting.

After two days, the worst was abating and Carson finally stole a couple hours sleep on the couch in his tiny office.

It was when he woke up, however, and rolled onto his arm and gasped that he realized something was up.

Cursing in Gaelic softly under his breath, he slyly pilfered some supplies and took them into his office. A quick temperature revealed a moderate fever, the slice in his arm was puffy and oozing, and when he stood up to complete a further course of action, he was hit with vertigo so intense he needed to brace himself on his desk with both hand to keep from toppling onto the floor.

As he took a few deep breaths and tried unsuccessfully to stop the room from spinning around, he wondered if he'd even be able to make it back out into the main infirmary without stumbling.

Lovely. Sheppard's words – and his own, for that matter – were coming back to haunt him. Just two weeks previous, hed yelled at the Colonel for ignoring an injury much like the one he was suffering. He was a doctor. He should have listened to his body.

He closed his eyes and carefully slumped back down into his chair in defeat. Nausea was starting to creep in now that he was starting to let his body give in. He knew that he needed antibiotics, irrigation, pain relief. All those things were readily available in the next room. Yet, he suddenly didn't want to move. In fact, the couch was suddenly very comfortable and if he could just...

* * *

"Doc?"

Carson turned his head sluggishly. He recognized the voice, but couldn't quite place it. Hands reached to shake him and one came in contact with his arm. He hissed. He felt someone roll up the sleeve and tried to bat the intrusion.

"Shit. Carson, sit tight."

He vaguely heard the sound of footsteps and knew he needed to get up. He reached a hand out blindly to push himself up from the desktop.

And felt a line a intense pain creep up his arm as it collapsed from the task. He cracked his eyes open, shutting them immediately when his head protested. He was going to be sick, he realized, and swallowed, trying to summon all of his willpower to not let that happen.


	2. Snippet 2

**Unfinished Snippet #2**  
**Set early Season 3. Tag for Misbegotten.**  
**More Carson whump/angst. Sheppard POV. 352 words.**

Has now become it's own story!

Visit:

www dot fanfiction dot net /s/6169566/1/Fault

Or Click on "Fault" on my author page :o).


	3. Snippet 3

**Unfinished Snippet #3**  
**Set early Season 2. The Seige (Part 3) tag.**  
**More Carson whump (sense a trend here?). 338 words.**

"Whoa, Doc, thats some spectacular bruising."

Carson plunked his tray down on the cafeteria tale and sighed, exhaustion seeping out of every single one of his pores. Sitting felt so nice, he feared he might not be able to get back up.

"Aye," he agreed, his fingers straying unconsciously up towards the marks circling his neck. They were the aftermath of Ford and Carson didn't care to relive those few terrifying seconds during which the lieutenant had nearly choked him. It had happened almost two days prior, but only this morning, when the last of those needing medical attention had been seen, did he notice the black and blue marks and slight swelling.

"You see one of your people about that?" Sheppard asked.

Carson gave him a tight smile. "I'm fine, Major, but thank you for your concern."

He was fine. If they'd been any ill effects, they'd certainly have surfaced by now. Didn't mean he'd be able to avoid an earful from someone on his overworked staff when they saw him and discovered he'd not sought medical attention when the incident occurred. But, frankly there had been no time. Once Atlantis was no longer in danger, his job had truly began, especially once McKay and Zelenka turned up, both needing to detox from all the stimulants he'd plied them with.

His own stimulant of choice had been coffee. And adrenaline. Adrenaline that had been fueled by impending doom and the constant need not to let anyone down. It was enough to make anyone crack and he wasn't quite sure why he hadn't. More than once, hed be tempted to shoot himself up, as well as Rodney and Radek – just to keep himself going, he'd told himself – but he'd been called away just when he'd actually considered loading the syringe.

"You sure? Because it makes me wince just looking at it."

"Quite sure." He picked up his fork and began devouring the food on his tray; he wasn't sure when the last he'd actually eaten was.


	4. Snippet 4

**Untitled Snippet #4**  
**Set Season 1. No real spoilers.**  
**More Carson whump. 214 words.**

He was in trouble, he realized, and there was next to nothing he could do about it.

"Carson, stay put. We're coming to you as soon as we can."

"Stay put," he muttered, "Where do think I can go?"

He took another deep breath and tired desperately to forget where he was, the fact that his leg was throbbing, the fact that he was stuck, definitely stuck, and balancing so close to a plummet that could only result in certain death if he so much as moved a muscle.

His only comfort was the fact that his leg was pinned because such a predicament made not moving easier. But a glance at the murky darkness below him only offered the opposite.

How the bloody hell did he get himself into such a thing in the first place?

It was John Sheppard's fault, he decided. Sheppard's fault because he was the one that was so sure that Carson had to tag along with his team. Never mind the fact that he had plans to fly to mainland and follow-up on a few patients there. No, apparently his team had stumbled upon a planet that had something to offer if medical aid was given in exchange.

Medical aid, of course, that resulted in his current position.


	5. Snippet 5

**Untitled Snippet #5**  
**Set Season 1. No real spoilers. And not angst nor whump! Shocked, huh? ;)**  
**This plot bunny, I've noted was because of the fact that Joe Flanigan and Paul McGillion shared the same birthday (Jan 5). ~400 words.**

Birthdays were different in Atlantis.

First, since Atlantis had a longer day and therefore made a slower revolution, Earth calendars were useless. Birthdays were shifted and the science team, on Weir's orders, set out to develop and distribute a new calendar, so that personal had a semblance of the week.

Not that there were really any weekends on Atlantis, but it did allow departments to schedule shifts and assign days off. Beckett, in particular, used the Atlantian calendar frequently. The copy that lay on his desk in the infirmary was covered in scribbles, marking nursing shift changes and other such medical things involving all the medical personal.

McKay used his to mark a similar schedule, but more often than not he'd get distracted and left the schedule half-finished on the disaster that was his workbench. Zelenka then picked it up and filled in the holes, giving himself an extra day or two off, no doubt.

Weir's calendar had meeting times and scheduled off-world missions written on it, important things marked in red. Everything was fairly organized and easy to read.

Sheppard's calendar was far emptier. A few mission dates were noted, but mostly the pages marked only one occasion.

Birthdays.

John had started digging around for peoples birthdays not long after they'd all settled on Atlantis. He knew Elizabeth prided herself in keeping up morale, but even she was too busy to note every single persons birthday. Therefore, John took it upon himself to take up the task. He made sure that every birthday was acknowledged with a simple handmade card. He never signed it, often just dropped on desks or under doors. But the sentiment was there and hed caught a few of the cards out on a few desks, so he knew they were well received.

It hadn't been too difficult to discover people's birthdays. He was the head of military command and with that came some privilege that allowed him scan files for that all important date of birth. Not that any card revealed the fact that he was aware of the actual age each person turned (he knew for some that could be considered a safely guarded secret - he'd carry Elizabeth Weir's age with him to the grave), as it was the date he actually cared about.

Until he got to one file in particular. He was already greatly amused by the fact that he and Carson Beckett shared the very same birthday - something he was sure the physician was aware of since he also had a work-related reason to look at everyone's file. But he frowned as he read the year.

No way.

* * *

"What do mean he's only turning thirty-six? He's younger than me?" Standing in Weir's office, Beckett's file laid across her desk, Sheppard just didn't believe that. The way Beckett treated him in the infirmary it should be flip-flopped.

"Exactly two years younger than you," Elizabeth confirmed. "But why is that such a shock? Everyone on this mission is the best and the brightest, and Carson is certainly not an exception."


End file.
